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♬ ▃▃▃▃▃▃
The camera flash hits differently when you been up since six in the morning.
I shifted in my seat, rolling my shoulders back while the photographer paced in front of me, calling out instructions I wasn't really listening to. The stylist leaned in, adjusting the chain resting on my hoodie while the makeup artist did a quick pat-down on my face, making sure I wasn't out here looking too shiny under the lights.
"Deuce, chin up a lil' bit," the photographer called out, peering through the lens.
This was supposed to be a quick promo shoot for GQ, but they had me locked in this studio for hours—first a full interview, now this. With the album two days out from release, shit had been non-stop. Interviews, meetings, last-minute approvals—now this shoot. I was neck-deep in promo.
I wasn't complainin'... but damn. I was used to it, built for it, but this time it felt different. The pressure was crazy as we got closer. And beyond all the business, and all the promo, I knew the expectations were high as hell. This wasn't just another project; this was the album. My debut. Anticipated, heavily scrutinized, every move being picked apart.
